But that had been before the interminable waste of the Grass War and the long train of young women and men in front of my desk with the trinkets they thought would give them a chance of not becoming food for crows in a field somewhere.

Tomai took his wife’s fragile hand in his own. He felt like if he held it even as if it were a child’s, the bones would snap like pine dowels. She began to shake, and Tomai put an arm around her shoulders.